


a silence more eloquent

by Iambic



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, atypical love confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/pseuds/Iambic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things speak louder than words, Dorian has found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a silence more eloquent

**Author's Note:**

> Short but sweet, while I keep wrangling the next chapter of "no reason..." into submission.

There’s something welling in Dorian’s throat when the Bull bends down to kiss him, lips salted with sweat; or in the rare early mornings when he wakes before the Bull rises and studies him by the pale light of a new sun. “Good morning, kadan,” he’ll say, the word that’s begun to ease its way into his way of speech, and Dorian will feel the word settle into his chest, as warm a weight as the arm that the Bull reaches across him to pull him closer.

After a battle, bruised and battered, breathing hard and waiting for hearts to stop racing, the Bull will hold Dorian’s shoulder as if he cannot help but make physical contact, ask “Doing okay?” with that tone that eased from gleeful and enthusiastic to concerned, affectionate. It will show in the crease of his brow and lines around his eyes, the softness of his mouth. The words will amass in Dorian’s throat, but what he will say is, “I am now.”

 _Amatus_. A name he thought to offer, once, but then had cast aside in his doubt. The assumption of a love he feared unrequited, the unsure naming of his own emotions. When the Bull showed his own heart, unprompted, Dorian considered the word again, but settled for action instead. The desperate reply of mouth against mouth. The hands against vulnerable skin. He breathed love into the hollow of the Bull’s throat and and smeared it across his back, his breast. Offering fealty in other words; _I’m yours, I’m yours_.

The nights collapsed in tents, the tense days of diplomacy, the times when the old fears and the old doubts resurface in one of them or the other, Dorian doesn’t say it, even when he haltingly begins to speak of love. He traces the pale scars crisscrossing unsaturated skin and kisses the grooves these old wounds left behind. He gives himself to the Bull’s arms to find the comfort and safety he never anticipated would be offered him. He speaks in floods or not at all. He says, _Bull_ , in fervent whispers or deliberate demonstration.

The Bull knows what he means.

 

 


End file.
